John, I'm Only Dancing
by Timeless A-Peel
Summary: Very AU. John Steed keeps secrets. Some of them could make the whole world come crashing down. But there are times when even the worst of the worst must be told. It wouldn't be fair otherwise. Rated for some violence. Complete! With new author's notes.
1. The Death of You & Me

John, I'm Only Dancing

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. I don't own _The Avengers_, either, or any of its characters. They belong to Canal+ (Image) International. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: This is all Dandy's fault.

Chatting about the finale of _Ashes to Ashes_ on The Avengers Fan Forum, member Dandy Forsdyke posed an interesting theory about Avengerland and its possible similarities to the world featured in the TV series _Life on Mars_ and _Ashes to Ashes_. This got me thinking about what that universe would mean for the series' characters, and as is so often the case with these ideas, once I get stuck on something, it's hard for me to let it go until I've written a story for it. One month later, I ended up with a fairly long, slightly strange character piece, which I finally feel ready to post. No prizes for realising it's meant to be _very_ AU, but it provided me with yet another opportunity to look at the series through a different lens. It's also possibly the most Steedcentric piece I've ever written, after years of focussing on Purdey and Gambit, which made it challenging in itself. All in all, it's been a fun experiment.

The story is too long to post in one go, so I shall try to update in a timely fashion.

Credit for the original idea goes to Dandy Forsdyke. I hope both he and you enjoy it.

Mild Spoiler Warning: For those who have yet to see the final episode of _Ashes to Ashes. _This story gives away the final twist. The title is from another Bowie track, naturally.

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><p>The scream was piercing. Gambit, just in the front door, bolted for the source without a moment's thought, drawing his gun in the process. Steed's study door barely put up a fight against his booted foot as it slammed into the woodwork, and he was inside in seconds, gun seeking a target, eyes alert for an intruder. But all he could see was the end of a piece of film being whipped round and round as it turned uselessly in a film projector, and Purdey crumpled on the floor, weeping.<p>

"Purdey!" Gambit exclaimed, moving to her side, eyes still scanning for a trap. He dropped into a crouch beside her, rested a hand on her quivering shoulder. The room wasn't overly large, and there was no place to hide, no way to escape without running into him on the way out. He relaxed, slightly, and eased the safety back into place on his gun, returned it to the shoulder holster. It was only then, with both hands free, that he took Purdey by the shoulders, gently lifted her until he could see her face. "Purdey," he repeated, quieter this time, faced etched with concern. "Purdey, what happened? What's wrong?"

She was looking at him, but her eyes weren't seeing. They stared beyond him at some horror he couldn't comprehend. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, and her lips quivered soundlessly. Gambit was deeply concerned. Never in all the days he had known her had he seen her quite like this. Purdey was made of stern stuff, and the few times something had managed to crack the facade, she may have screamed, or cried, or raved at the world, but he'd never seen her reduced to this, a mute, trembling shell of a woman, incapable of hearing, seeing, connecting with the world in any way. "Purdey..." he tried again, stroking her hair, willing her to connect with him, feeling helpless in the face of terror and fear and hating it immensely. "Oh, Purdey, what's happened to you?"

Her eyes flickered, just slightly, and suddenly she seemed to realise he was there, and her hand shot out and gripped his arm. "He killed me," she whispered.

Gambit felt his brown furrow in confusion. "What? Killed you? Purdey, you're not making sense. You're here. You're alive."

"No," Purdey sobbed, head shaking from side to side frantically. "No, I'm not. I'm dead, and he killed me."

"Who killed you? Purdey, you're not making sense."

"He did." Purdey pointed an accusing finger at the film projector. "He did it. You watch. You'll see."

Gambit looked over his shoulder at the projector, still turning uselessly, the film flapping with each rotation. "You watched a film?" he queried, returning his attention to her. "Purdey, whatever it was, it wasn't real."

"It _is_ real," Purdey hissed, grabbing a handful of his lapel and pulling him close. "I know it is. Watch it and you'll know it is, too."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. Here, we'll get you something to drink, and then you can have a lie down until you calm—"

"Watch it!" Purdey ordered, pulling away and standing, staggering over to brace herself against the wall. "Watch it and you'll see."

He could tell she wasn't going to cooperate until he did, so he backed away carefully, keeping one eye on her while using the other to set the projector back up again. It took a moment, but when he finished, she was showing no sign of changing her mind, so he switched it on, and let the film play.

It opened on a flat, or at least he thought it was a flat. The view he was getting didn't make it clear. What was clear was the identity of the single occupant: Purdey. But not his Purdey, not the woman standing in the room with him, watching this unfold for the second time. No, this was a younger Purdey, early twenties at the oldest. She was still beautiful, though he thought the years had allowed her to blossom to her full potential. Her face was softer, more youthful, her hair grown long and lightly curled. She was packing a pair of suitcases with the frantic, desperate movements of someone who wanted to run away and hoped the world never caught up with her. She was clearly distraught, sobbing and periodically scrubbing at her tear-stained cheeks. Despite her unfamiliar appearance, Gambit was still entranced by her, instinctively wanted to draw her close and ask her what was wrong, just as he had moments earlier.

A door banged open and broke the spell, and young Purdey's head snapped up in surprise. Gambit recognised the visitor, too, felt his eyes narrow automatically.

"Doomer," he spat, and behind him Purdey made a little noise. He meant to ask her if he should stop the film, but he was already too deeply invested in what was going on to quit now, and Purdey didn't ask. Instead, her younger self positively identified the man framed in her doorway with a startled gasp.

"Larry!"

Larry closed the door behind him, stalked toward her. Purdey was shaking, but she held her ground, clutching the shirt she had been taking to the suitcase in a white-knuckled fist. Doomer stopped a few paces from her, trembling with rage. "You've ruined everything!" he bellowed, pointing an accusing finger at her. "I had a clear shot! That was my only chance, and you took it away from me."

"I saved you!" Purdey shot back. "If you killed him, his security would have been on you in an instant. You would have ended up in prison. I couldn't let that happen."

"I knew the risks!" Larry bellowed. "I had an escape route planned. They never would have caught me. We would have been married, and you would never have been the wiser. But no, you had to put your oar in. I may never have another chance."

_Married?_ Gambit realised for the first time that the hand clutching the shirt had a ring on it. Purdey was _engaged_? To Doomer of all people? She'd never mentioned it before. Then again, he didn't have any reason to think this was real, whatever it was, though it certainly _seemed_ genuine...

"That's just as well," Purdey declared, then softened, seemed to change her approach. "Larry, I know how you feel. My father was shot and killed four years ago. I know how much it hurts, how you want to do something, anything, to make the pain go away, no matter how irrational. But it doesn't solve anything. I have no idea who killed my father, but killing him wouldn't bring that wonderful man back. And the same goes for the Emir. Larry, your father wouldn't have wanted you to get yourself in trouble because of what happened to him."

Larry shook his head. "You didn't know my father, Purdey. Not like I did. And you had no right to stop me. Do you hear me? NO RIGHT!"

Purdey took a step back. _Run,_ Gambit mentally urged. _Run before he drags you to hell with him._

"You're not thinking clearly," Purdey said calmly, but Gambit could hear the tremor in her voice. She edged over to her suitcase, put the shirt she was holding in it. "You need some time. You're angry, and I understand that. I'm going to my mother's, and when you're ready, we can talk about what happened."

Larry was gaping at her in disbelief. "You're _leaving_ me?"

"We need some time apart," Purdey said sensibly, closing the suitcase and snapping the latches shut. "We can't discuss anything properly until we've both calmed down."

"You can't leave me," Larry growled at her. "_No one_ leaves me. Not unless I say so."

"Larry..."

"No! You ruined everything, and now you're going to walk away? No, you're not going anywhere." Larry clawed at the hem of his jacket, and Gambit's instincts kicked into high gear. _Get out, get out, GET OUT!_

Purdey's eyes widened when she saw the gun. She stumbled back into the wall, desperately trying to get as far away from the weapon as she could, but there was nowhere for her to go. She was trapped.

Larry was holding the weapon with a surety that was terrifying. "No one leaves me," he said quite calmly. "Least of all you."

"Larry!"

The gun went off, and Purdey screamed, and Gambit didn't know if it was the Purdey on the film or the one in the room with him, or both, because it seemed to come from everywhere. And then he could see the bullet hole in her chest, close to her heart. Could see that it was fatal. Could see the blood. All the blood. Flowing out onto her blouse, turning white to red. And then she was sinking, falling, sliding down the wall to slump to the floor, blue eyes wide with shock and disbelief, and still fixed on Larry. Her arms fell limply to her sides, legs sprawling untidily over the floor. Her lips moved wordlessly in a plea for help, but the breath had been chased from her body, and she was mute. Gambit could feel his heart racing, felt as though his very soul had been ripped from his body, and torn to shreds before his very eyes. This was impossible, and terrible, and heart-breaking, and everything that shouldn't be. Purdey, young and beautiful and dying before his eyes. And the blood. So much blood. He reached out a hand to wipe it away, willing it to be untrue. But the light was dying in Purdey's eyes, along with the rest of her, and Gambit watched it fade, watched it go out, watched her crumple to one side like a discarded rag doll. Watched Larry lower the gun with trembling hands, tears in his eyes. Watched him turn it on himself, pull the trigger...

Gambit squeezed his eyes shut and recoiled bodily as the gun fired for the second, and last, time. He hated Doomer more than ever now, but after what he'd just seen, he didn't need to watch another bloody end to a life.

The film ended abruptly, and Gambit heard the projector roll on with the loose end flapping freely once more. He reached out and switched it off automatically, unsure of what to do. What he'd just seen was impossible, and yet, it was so vividly real that he believed it. He knew it was true, somewhere deep down in his soul, no matter how much he tried to fight it. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to be violently sick. The last one was seeming more and more like the most likely option. He wondered absently if he'd be able to find Steed's wastepaper basket in time.

"I found it in here." Purdey's words startled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to her with haunted eyes, half-expecting her dress to be stained crimson. She was still braced against the wall, arms hugged across her chest.

"The film?" he rasped, mouth suddenly dry.

She nodded. "I was looking for Steed, but he wasn't in. He had a box." She pointed at the desk with her chin. "That box, sitting open on the surface. I looked inside. I thought it might be to do with our latest assignment. But it was filled with film canisters, and they were all labelled with names. One of them was labelled with mine."

"So you watched it," Gambit finished. "Purdey, what the hell is it? And why does Steed have it?"

"I don't know," Purdey confessed. "But whatever it is, I know that everything it showed happened. I can feel it. And what's worse, I can remember it, Mike." She bit her lip, and fresh tears started flowing. "I remember it as though it happened yesterday. I know Larry killed me. And that means I'm dead and some sort of...ghost. Or I don't know what. But that happened. I can't deny it."

Gambit was breathing hard. None of this made sense, but he knew Purdey wouldn't make this sort of thing up. If she said she remembered, he believed her. The question was, where did that leave them?

"Steed'll have answers," he murmured, locking eyes with her. "He has to. They're his films."

"You would hope so," Purdey agreed, without much enthusiasm. "Though it hardly matters at this point. I'm already dead."

"Purdey, don't say that..."

"Why? It's true," she said sadly. "And what's worse..." She trailed off, shook her head. "No, never mind."

Gambit felt his eyes narrow. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Purdey, what are you keeping from me? Whatever it is, it can't be worse than what we've just seen!"

"I think it may be," Purdey murmured.

"I'll decide that for myself," Gambit declared. "Purdey, I think we're past secrets at this point."

Purdey sighed, then nodded. "You have a right to know, I suppose."

"A right to know what?" Gambit was getting impatient now.

Purdey met his eyes, and her voice trembled as she spoke. "There's another film in that box, Mike. And it has your name on it."

Gambit froze, felt the box on the desk draw his gaze. "In there?" he murmured, eyeing it uneasily.

"Yes," Purdey confirmed. "I was going to look at it after I watched mine, before I knew what it was."

Gambit rummaged in the box, extracted the canister. It looked innocuous enough—plain and gray, with the name 'GAMBIT' scrawled in felt tip across a piece of masking tape. Heart pounding, he opened it, removed the film. Purdey watched his warily.

"Are you going to watch it?" she wanted to know.

"I think I have to," Gambit confirmed, going to the projector and carefully removing Purdey's film from the machine. "Even if I don't, I'll end up imagining the worst, and my imagination is pretty damn vivid."

"Do you want me to leave?" she offered, voice hoarse from crying. "If you don't want me to see it, I understand."

"No, you can stay," Gambit said flatly. "You showed me yours. It's only fair. Anyway, I could probably use a friend when it's all over." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Unless you think you've seen enough for one day."

Purdey shook her head, wiped her eyes on her sleeve. "No, I'll stay."

Gambit nodded once, curtly, then turned back to put the finishing touches on the film. When he finished, he started the projector up once more, stepped back, and watched.

The screen flickered, then resolved into an image. It was him. Or him as he had been a million years ago. Young, barely 21, and fresh from the Navy, unsure of what to do next. Ducking through dark side streets he remembered from his youth, on his way back to the grotty little room he was renting. And suddenly there was a scream, and he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it was a girl's scream, and that she was being mugged and heaven knew what else if someone didn't help her. There was no one else nearby, no one who would rush to her aid. He knew that. He knew it then and he knew it now. What choice did he have but to help her?

Gambit watched events unfold with a grim resignation, mentally retrieving each frame a fraction of a second before it flashed onscreen. And so he remembered that there were three of them, remembered the fight that ensued, remembered the girl scrabbling away. And then suddenly the glint of a knife appeared onscreen, and he watched it connect with his side, watched it withdraw, and saw—

_The blood. Warm and sticky and slick on his fingers as he pressed a hand to the wound, felt his legs give out, heard the laughter of his assailants as they left him to his fate. He could smell the night air, unusually hot and humid, even for this time of year. Could taste the beer on his lips that he'd drunk only a quarter of an hour before. Could hear the distant whoosh of late night London traffic. He wanted to call for help, but there was no one to hear him, he knew. No one knew to help the girl, except himself. And there was no way he could ride to his own rescue._

_The weakness was setting in, and with it his ability to crawl somewhere, anywhere, for help. He didn't want to die. He really didn't. He was scared. The tears running down his cheeks were testament to that, and the strange, strangled noises his throat was making. But he also was smart enough to know when he was beat, when the odds were against him. And he wanted to sleep. More than he'd ever wanted in his life. So he let his eyes slide closed. Saw the world fade to black, heard the sounds of the traffic grow ever more distant, until they were so far away that he stopped feeling the blood and the pain and the fear, until he knew nothing. Nothing at all..._

"Is it...?" Purdey's voice came to him as if through a dream.

"Yes," he confirmed automatically.

"Do you...?"

"Remember? Yes." He stood stiff and unmoving, locked in place, unable to break the hold the screen had over him, even if it had finished giving up its dark secrets. He felt a strange disconnect between his mind and his body, the former reeling from the sheer enormity of the revelations, the latter seemingly in stasis, resigned to immobility until he chose to engage it once more. "I wanted to do the right thing," he whispered, suddenly aware of Purdey by his side. He turned childlike eyes on her—serious, sombre, earnest-trying to make her understand. "I wasn't trying to be a hero," he said with feeling, desperate to explain the actions of his younger self for reasons he didn't even understand. "I thought someone should help her. I was the only one there. That's all. That's all I was trying to do."

Purdey nodded. "I know," she said softly, laying a hand on his arm. "I know. What do we do now?"

The sound of a door slamming had them both looking at the study door. Gambit pulled away from her, moved to collect the pair of film canisters lying discarded on the desk. "We get answers," he said grimly, striding purposefully out of the room. Purdey drifted in his wake, feeling like the ghost she was as they travelled down the silent halls.

Steed was depositing his bowler and brolly on the dining room table when they entered. He looked up, flashed them a cheery smile. "Ah, Purdey, Gambit, I didn't expect you until tomorrow. Your enthusiasm knows no bounds."

"Today it does," Gambit snapped back, tossing the canisters on the coffee table with barely-contained ire. "What the hell are these?"

For perhaps the first time since they had become acquainted, Steed looked genuinely flustered. His gaze settled on the canisters, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. Gambit thought the man looked stricken at the sight of them, but was somehow unable to take any pleasure from having the upper hand for once. This wasn't an advantage anyone would relish.

"Where did you find those?" Steed asked carefully.

"Your study," Gambit replied.

"Did you watch them? Yes, of course you did." Steed rubbed his hands together distractedly, expression one of self-chastisement. "I suppose you'd like an explanation."

"It would help," Gambit said curtly. "Not every day you stumble across your own personal snuff film."

"No, indeed. I expect you'll want to know where I got them," Steed said with a sigh.

"And why we remember them." The two men had almost forgotten about Purdey, huddled near the fireplace, still hugging herself as though trying to ward off a chill she couldn't shake. "Why I remember Larry killing me, even though I wouldn't have an hour ago."

"There are answers to all of those questions, and I'll gladly give them," Steed promised, crossing into the living room and gesturing to the furniture. "You should sit down."

Purdey and Gambit exchanged glances, but did as they were told. Purdey half-sat, half-collapsed onto the couch. Gambit opted for one of the armchairs, leaving Steed to take the other. He sat for a moment, trying to work out how best to begin, but finally settled on a straightforward approach. They'd seen the films, after all. There was very little he could say to top them.

"You remember what happened in those films because those events happened," Steed explained sadly.

Purdey looked at him uncomprehendingly. "But...but we _died_ in them. How can that be? We're not dead!" She looked from Steed to Gambit and back again. "Are we?"

"I'm afraid so," Steed confirmed. He heard Gambit's sharp intake of breath, saw Purdey's white knuckles as she clenched the couch cushions in an iron grip, and yet felt strangely detached from the situation. He'd done this heaven knew how many times. Adding Purdey and Gambit to the list was something he'd resigned himself to ages ago, but he hadn't expected to do the deed so soon. If he let himself feel what he ought to be feeling just now, he knew he wouldn't be in any state to answer the questions he knew were coming.

"If we're dead," Gambit said slowly, eyes on a patch of the floor a few feet from where he sat, breaking Steed's train of thought and jerking Purdey out of her nearly catatonic state, "does that make this place...heaven?"

The word was almost childlike, and Steed realised Gambit sounded painfully young all of the sudden, was reminded of how old Gambit had been when he died. 21. Barely older than Steed himself. "Not exactly," he contradicted gently. "Heaven, or whatever you may wish to call it, is another plane of existence beyond what we have here. One needs to cross over to reach it. This place is a stopping point along the way, a place for people with unfinished business to live the lives and make the choices they were deprived the chance to make."

"So it's not real?" Purdey murmured. "None of it."

"It's very real," Steed said seriously. "Perhaps more so than the place we were born. Everything is significant here. Everything matters. Every choice. Every action. And especially death."

Purdey's eyes widened. "What could possibly happen the second time around that didn't the first?"

"I'd rather not explain when you're still in shock," Steed said darkly. "All you need know at this juncture is that, while it may not be the original England, it still needs protecting, still needs people like you to fight for the right side, keep other, less honourably intentioned souls from causing chaos."

Gambit's jaw was working anxiously. "Does that mean everyone else here is...?"

"Dead," Steed confirmed. "Yes."

Purdey's eyes were tearing up again. "Even you?"

Steed smiled at her, but there was no joy in it. "Even me, my dear."

Gambit took the news with much more equanimity. "And how did that happen, if you're in a sharing mood?"

"1942," came the blunt reply. "I was 20. The war, you know. I was promoted to Major post-humously."

"Right. I should have seen that coming." Behind the impassive exterior, Steed could see the cracks forming, and he knew Gambit was going to need a moment to absorb it all. And Purdey. Well, Purdey was going to need more than a moment, that much was certain.

As if to prove his point, the girl flung herself off the couch and started to pace the room. "How can you two be so sanguine about it all? _Everyone's_ dead? Everyone?"

"As far as I know," Steed confirmed.

Purdey stopped, eyes locked on her own reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. "Even my mother?" she asked, in a heartbreakingly small voice.

Gambit's head snapped up in concern, and Steed felt a knot form in his stomach. "I...suppose so. She must be."

"And Uncle Elly? And my step-father?" Purdey went on, in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

"I'm afraid so."

"But how...?"

"That I don't know. I never had occasion to find out."

She turned to face him, crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "And my father?"

Steed sighed. "He's certainly not here any longer. I presume he crossed over a long time ago."

"Suppose that goes for my parents, too," Gambit mused, shifting to rest his elbows on his knees. "They're not here, and neither is Gran. Just my aunt." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "That means she's dead, too."

"Why didn't I remember it?" Purdey wanted to know. "Dying. It seems so clear now. How could I possibly forget that until now?"

Steed shrugged. "The memories fade the longer you stay. For a short period, you're very confused, incapable of accepting what's happened. Then, slowly, you begin to forget, to reconcile your last life with this one. You form a chain of events in your mind that makes sense to you. Two to three years seems to be the length of time needed to make a full conversion. The mind is very good at papering over the cracks. Only evidence of your untimely demise will reveal the cracks for what they are."

"How do you remember, then?" Purdey pushed. "And how do you know what happened to us? And why on earth didn't you tell us?"

"Because you chose to stay, didn't you?" Gambit cut in, levelling his gaze at Steed. "That bloody-mindedness and sense of duty of yours wouldn't let you go quietly."

Steed smirked at the incisiveness of the younger man's remarks. "I've taught you well, Gambit."

"Don't get smug. I know you is all," Gambit shot back. "Including what a stubborn bastard you can be. Even death wasn't going to keep you from your job."

Steed grinned in spite of himself. "Yes, I suppose there was a measure of stubbornness to it. Or a sense of responsibility. Hardly matters at this stage. The point is that my unfinished business was to serve my country, and I was going to stay on to do it. There are others like me. They have sources, ways of accessing the films. Strictly speaking they're the property of the other side, but we find a way to liberate them." His face turned serious. "In the wrong hands they can be very dangerous. They can be used to lead people to some very dark places. I view my own to remind myself why I'm here." He paused, and Gambit could see that even the admission was costing him, knew that Steed was seeing his own death flash before his mind's eye. "We're allowed to stay on, allowed recruit other people to keep things in order. But eventually everyone has to be given the option to leave. Part of my job is to send the people I use on. Before someone else does. And that requires having the films, and watching them. And sometimes passing them on to their rightful owners."

"Which we are," Purdey asserted, hurt etched across her features. "You had those, you watched them, you knew about Larry, and you had me face him anyway?"

"I had to," Steed murmured. "Purdey, you must understand—Larry was part of your unfinished business. Part of the reason you were here. I could help you, but I couldn't interfere, not until it put lives at risk. If I'd told you, if I'd kept you from Larry, I'd have been going against the rules."

"You _always_ go against the rules!" Purdey screamed. "That's what you do!"

"Not that rule," Steed said sharply. "Never that rule."

"Heard that before," Gambit muttered, and Steed turned his penetrating gaze on him.

"There are powers beyond me, Gambit. Powers that even I don't dare trifle with. Ministry guidelines are one thing. The very laws of the universe are quite another."

Gambit's mouth twisted. "Did the universe tell you when to let us in on the secret?" he shot back. "Or were you planning on sitting on it until we outlived our usefulness?"

"I wanted you to say," Steed admitted, voice level. "I planned on your staying here, working with me, for at least another year or two. Then I was going to let you leave, live your lives as you saw fit, until it became too risky. That's when I would have told you. After you'd had a chance to live, for at least a little longer." He settled back in his armchair with a sigh. "I thought you deserved that much. Everyone does."

Gambit pursed his lips, but didn't answer, shamed slightly by the senior agent's words.

"But now that you know, I have to offer you the choice to leave, of course," Steed went on. "It's only fair. It's a difficult decision, not one to be taken lightly." He glanced at the clock. "I have to go soon. The reason the films were out to begin with was because I have a meeting with another person who needs to be told the truth. And given the choice." He looked back at his two colleagues. "I'll be back later this evening. And if you want to cross over then, I'll take you where you need to be."

Gambit nodded once, curtly, in understanding, stood, and crossed to where Purdey was still standing, looking lost. "Come on, Purdey," he said quietly, taking her elbow. "We're going."

Purdey blinked as though coming out of a daze. "Going? Going where?"

"For a drive. The hell away from here," Gambit replied, steering her toward the door.

"But...but all of this, it's—"

"It'll be easier to digest if we get out of here and get some air," Gambit cut in. "Clear our heads." He glanced over his shoulder at Steed. "We'll be back when we have an answer."

Steed inclined his head. "Take your time."

Gambit laughed, one staccato burst. "We will. We've got plenty of it." And then they were gone.

Steed stood and retrieved his bowler and brolly from the dining room table. "But never quite enough in the end," he said softly to himself. "Never enough."


	2. Interlude: David Keel

John, I'm Only Dancing

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. I don't own _The Avengers_, either, or any of its characters. They belong to Canal+ (Image) International. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

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><p>"It was 1955. You were only a medical student then." The story spooled out of Steed with surprising ease. Perhaps it was due to heaven only knew how many viewings of the film. Or maybe it was down to experience. After all, he'd had practice with several other agents by this point, though he'd never tried it on someone as close as an ex-partner. Still, there had to be a first time for everything. He hoped his composure indicated that he would be able to do this again. He had a feeling he would have to many, many times in the coming years. "There was a particularly virulent bacteria infection running rampant. You worked around the clock, trying to help the other doctors treat the patients. There were too many to name, more than anyone could possibly tend to in a timely fashion, but you did your best to see to it that as many received care as possible." He paused. "Does this sound familiar?"<p>

"Go on," was the only response, and as he couldn't think of much else to do, Steed did.

"Eventually your schedule caught up with you. It had to. It was November, chill in the air and all that. You weren't sleeping properly, weren't eating properly. When the cough started, you brushed it aside and worked through it. Eventually one of the other physicians had to force you off duty, for fear of contaminating the other patients." He took a sip of his coffee to wet his suddenly dry mouth before continuing. "By that point the cough had developed into pneumonia, and that coupled with the same ailments from which your patients were suffering. Your body had no resources with which to fight it, and the hospital didn't have the staff to give you the care you deserved. You hung on for a week, perhaps a little longer, but in the end you succumbed."

"How awful." Carol's voice drifted softly from his left, the woman herself clutching her own coffee cup with white, unmoving fingers. The understatement itself was more than made up for in tone and expression. Brown haunted eyes met Steed's when he turned her way, above the clenched, tight jaw. "You mean he died all those years ago, and he doesn't even remember it?"

"He may now," Steed replied, turning his attention to the man standing by the window, staring out into the blackness of the evening.

"Do you, David?" Carol wanted to know, craning her neck to see him better, but his face was in shadow. He sighed visibly, shoulders heaving, then pushed away from the glass.

"I didn't," Dr. David Keel confessed, "but after Steed's little story, it seems to be coming back." He crossed the floor with slow, deliberate steps. "I should have known the other shoe would drop, even twelve years later." He slid into his seat, vacated before Steed's narrative when his body proved too restless to listen in repose. "When I moved away and stopped taking your calls, I should have known I'd gotten away too easily when you quit trying to make contact. There was always another trick, wasn't there, Steed? And you've saved the best for last." His mouth twisted bitterly. "After all you put us through, the least you could do was let us live out our lives in peace, without dropping this damned bombshell on us."

"I would if it were possible," Steed said sincerely. "You must believe me when I say I take no pleasure in being the bearer of bad news. If I had my way, you'd stay blissfully ignorant. As it is I've left it as late as I dare. But there's a price to this world, this second chance, and if we're not careful, you'll have to pay it very soon. And I'll be the least of your problems."

"That'll be the day," Keel chortled mirthlessly. "Right, what is it then? Lucifer himself coming after me?"

"Just about," Steed said levelly. "The details are unimportant, but deadly to ignore. The solution is to leave. We call it 'crossing over.'"

"'We'?"

"Myself and others with similar...goals."

"There are more of you? It's a wonder we've all lasted as long as we have."

"This is serious!" Steed snapped, feeling annoyed in spite of himself. "I'm offering you the ultimate escape route, some place I'm certain not to follow."

"What about my patients?" Keel shot back. "Dead, or whatever they are. If they really are lost souls, they need all the help I can give them. I can't walk away from that responsibility, come hell or high water."

"Keel..." Steed protested.

"No. Running away never solves a damned thing, as your return amply demonstrates. No, I'll stay. And it'll take more than you to change my mind." He downed the last of his coffee stubbornly, challenging Steed to contradict. Steed felt his own ire building, was about to launch a counterattack, when he felt Carol's hand on his arm.

"I hear things," Carol confided quietly, eyes darting anxiously around the room. "Terrible things. And they're getting worse. I'm hearing them more and more. And I'm seeing things, too. I never used to see things." She met Steed's eyes. "Is that something to do with what you've told David?"

Steed cursed himself internally. He'd never thought of Carol as a proper colleague, just someone to press into service if he and Keel needed a third set of hands. He'd never told her the nature of his business, though he knew she must have suspected. But that meant he hadn't checked out her backstory. He didn't know how long she'd been here. And people who were here for a very long time were always the target of the darker forces. "Yes," he told her truthfully. "And if what you say is true, you have even less time than your husband."

"Less?" Carol echoed, turning wide-eyed to Keel. "David!"

"Steed, if this is a ruse..." Keel warned.

Steed ignored him, focussed on Carol instead. "Mrs. Keel, I beg you, whatever else I may have done to mislead you, you must listen to me now. What you are experiencing is a breakdown in your connection with this world. Whatever happens, you cannot stay here. Either you can leave now, with me, or stay on and take your chances. But I promise you, the next person who comes for you will not have your best interests at heart."

Carol stuck her jaw out defiantly. "It's Dr. Keel, actually," she corrected, with just a touch of pride. "David encouraged me to go back to school. And I believe you, Steed, but I can't leave. Not without David."

Steed closed his eyes in frustration, beating back the urge to push her, knowing it would only make things worse. The original Dr. Keel had never responded well to threats, and he was willing to bet the new one wouldn't, either. Careful, quiet persuasion was his best bet, and his old partner was the one to aim it at. He shifted his attention to Keel, meaning to give him his best pitch, but to his surprise, the good doctor was looking at his wife with something like acceptance in his eyes.

"Is it the only way?" he questioned, not bothering to look at Steed.

"Yes," Steed confirmed. "For her and for you. But you must act soon."

"Then we'll leave now," Keel decided, standing. "If Carol wants to."

Carol shot up from her seat. "I'll go get my bag," she said quickly, dashing out of the room before Steed could tell her that she wouldn't be needing it. Oh well. It wasn't going to hurt anyone. He turned his attention to Keel instead.

"You're making the right decision," he assured him.

Keel regarded him with a healthy dose of scepticism. "That remains to be seen. If it were just me, I'd stay for my patients. I'm not going for myself. I'm going for Carol."

"The best reason of all," Steed opined, nodded toward the door. "Get your coat. It's miserable outside."


	3. Stars

John, I'm Only Dancing

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. I don't own _The Avengers_, either, or any of its characters. They belong to Canal+ (Image) International. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

><p>They drove in silence, Purdey gazing blankly out the window. Gambit watched her out of the corner of his eye, doing his best to gauge her state of mind and while keeping tabs on the darkening country road. She'd quit crying ten minutes ago, but hadn't found something new to fill the silence. From the hunch of her shoulders, he had the feeling she was too emotionally exhausted to work out what to do next. Part of him knew he should leave her be, but the silence that was building up between them was unbearable, and he didn't know how long he could stand it. When he wasn't looking at her, he could see the images flashing behind his eyes, could see the blood—his, Purdey's—blurring together in an orgy of crimson. Both murdered, violently, at a young age. What were the odds? He mentally rebuked himself for wondering. Considering what Steed had told them about this world, the odds were pretty damned good. If everyone was dead, he was willing to bet that they all hadn't gone peacefully in their sleep.<p>

Purdey shifted in her seat, and he could tell from the bitter twist of her mouth that she was reflecting on her demise, if not his own. Her death was made all the worse because Doomer was involved. She'd taken some time to get over her last encounter with her ex-fiance, the man Gambit had been forced to kill. Again, it would seem. Gambit sincerely hoped that the man had ended up somewhere subterranean and warm the second time around. But Larry had influence over Purdey, even more than Gambit had previously suspected, and he knew she was thinking about it. That wasn't good.

"It doesn't define have to define you, you know." The words were out of his mouth before he knew what was happening, and then Purdey's eyes were on him, dark and stormy. They drew him in, and he only remembered to keep the car on the road at the last second. It was probably the wrong time to say it—the wounds were too fresh-but he couldn't undo it now, so he ploughed on. "It doesn't change who you are."

"How can you say that?" Purdey exclaimed, turning bodily in her seat to face him. "He killed me, Mike! He followed me home, brought the gun, pulled the trigger, and let me die. Everything I've worked at through the years, trying to build myself into someone better, stronger, more resilient, was for nothing. I told myself that he was a mistake that I'd never make again, that my life was my own, not his. But in the end, I was wrong. He _took_ it from me." She spat the word like it was poison. "He ripped my life from my body. He changed everything. He's the reason I'm here. How can you say he doesn't define me?" She bit her lip against the fresh tears that were springing to the surface, angry tears. "I died a stupid, naive, battered woman, and that's all I am, at the core."

Gambit shook his head vigourously. "You know that's not true."

"I don't know anything anymore," Purdey shot back. "And as we're analysing our untimely demises, it occurs to me that you're awfully sanguine about all of this. Don't you care that you were stabbed in a grotty alley? Or did your emotions die with you?"

"Of course I bloody care!" Gambit cried, then realised he'd taken his eyes off the road again. Suddenly the mental energy required to keep the car on the road seemed to be more than he could spare, and he slammed on the brakes. The XJS slewed alarmingly, bouncing over the ditch and trailing into a field before jerking to a stop on the grass. Purdey braced herself against the dashboard to avoid the whiplash, eyed the driver from beneath her tousled fringe. Gambit was gripping the wheel, whiteknuckled, eyes burning a whole through the windscreen.

"Gambit, what on earth...?" Purdey began, but he was already unbuckling his seatbelt.

"I need some air," he muttered, opening the door and stalking out into the night.

"Gambit!" Purdey called, and set about disentangling herself from her own safetybelt to scramble out after him. The earth was still soft from yesterday's rain, and her heels sank into the soil, but she found she didn't care. All her attention was focussed on the tall, slim silhouette pacing through the grass. She went after him. "Gambit!"

He whirled around just as she reached for his arm, and she jumped back in surprise. "Do you really think I don't give a damn?" he wanted to know. "Because I do. Of course I care that I died. It wasn't right. Just the way it wasn't right that Doomer killed you, and it's not right that Steed died on a battlefield before either of us was even born. You'd have to verge on the psychopathic not to care." He scrubbed his face with his hands, let out a noise that was half-sigh, half-growl. "This is taking a toll on all of us, Purdey-girl. You. Me. Steed. Some of process it differently than others, but that doesn't mean we're unaffected."

"I'm sorry," Purdey said softly, bowing her head and feeling suitably chastised. "I shouldn't have said that. I suppose I've been so caught up in what it means for me, I forgot about everyone else." She peered up at his profile, just visible in the light of the moon. "I never thought you might be hurting."

He dropped his arms heavily, and she could see the tension leave his shoulders. Mike Gambit was astoundingly good at keeping his emotions in check when he had to, and when something cracked the veneer, it usually wasn't for long. If it was, you knew you had a problem on your hands. "Forget it," he said tiredly. "After the evening we've had, I think we all deserve to be a little self-involved." He started back toward the car, and Purdey trailed after him, unsure of what to do next. To her surprise, Gambit made no move to get back inside. Instead, he sat on the bonnet, swivelling his legs around so he could stretch out full-length, reclining against the windscreen. Purdey cocked her head in bemusement.

"Gambit? What are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable," came the response, and he shifted around before folding his arms behind his head and leaning back. "I'm not going anywhere for awhile. We need to think on this, and we'll do it better out here than most places. You can go back inside if you like, but I'm going to stay out her awhile. Watch the sky."

Purdey thought for a moment, then moved for the driver's side. Gambit expected to hear to crawl inside and shut the door behind her, but instead there was a sudden burst of blinding light, and it was only when his eyes adjusted that he realised the headlights were on, and Purdey's silhouette was just barely visible in the wash of brightness, standing on the opposite side of the bonnet. While he watched, she crawled onto the surface beside him, curling onto her side with her knees close to her chest. With the headlights on, he could just make out the bright blue eyes fixed on him. He shot her an inquiring look, but she simply shrugged, and with classic Purdey aplomb said, "Thinking is one thing. Brooding in the dark is another."

Gambit smirked. "I'm not brooding," he defended, nodding up at the night sky. "I used to do this when I was aboardship. Just lie and look up at the universe. Wonder what was out there, in the great beyond."

"We are, presumably," Purdey pointed out.

"Maybe," Gambit agreed. "A lot cheaper than the space program, then, isn't it?"

"And fashionable. Spacesuit are hardly the most flattering of outfits."

"I'm sure you'd find a way to make it work."

"Maybe. Perhaps if I added a nice scarf." Purdey smiled when she heard his chuckle, tucked an arm under her head. "I know you say it hurts," she went on. "But you do seem awfully accepting of it all."

"Well, I'm a great believer in second chances," Gambit murmured, eyes searching the sky. "And they don't come much better than this."

"But you wouldn't need a second chance if you hadn't had the first one taken from you," Purdey pressed, with irrefutable logic. "That must bother you."

Gambit sighed, turned his head so he could look at her. "I suppose it depends on what chance number one was like."

Purdey frowned. "What do you mean?"

Gambit smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I didn't have your advantages, Purdey-girl. You had a family. Everyone in mine was either dead, or distant, or didn't have enough energy left for one more person. You must have had friends. I left home at 14, and never stayed anywhere long enough for anything more than fleeting relationships. So there I was, 21, knocking around Europe without the foggiest idea where to go or what to do with my life. No education, just naval training. Not much money. Vague ideas about motor racing." He let out a long sigh. "It might have worked out. I might have figured something out. But you have to admit, it wasn't the most promising of starts."

Purdey shook her head. "Perhaps not, but you would have made it work. You made something of yourself here, after all, and I'm sure it would have been just as worthy as what we do now. I refuse to believe the real world isn't worse off without Mike Gambit in it."

Gambit's smile turned fond. "Purdey, I think that may be the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Is it really? How terrible for you," Purdey teased, and they laughed quietly for a little while, before settling into a companionable silence.

"That goes the other way, too, you know," Gambit said suddenly, and then, at Purdey's inquiring look. "If I hadn't come here, I never would have met Steed. And no Steed would have meant no you. And I don't know that there's anything chance number one had that'd make up for a world with no Purdey."

"Gambit." Purdey ducked her head and flushed, hoping he couldn't tell in the glare of the headlights.

"Not that I'm keen on how you got here," Gambit went on, filing her expression away for future reference and possible gentle blackmail. "I feel worse for you than me. You had everything. The family, the job, the life. And to have a bastard like Doomer take it all away..."

"I should have stopped him," Purdey asserted, with bitterness in her voice. "I should have been stronger than I was."

"You _did_ stop him. That took a hell of a lot more strength than you're giving yourself credit for," Gambit argued. "It must have been damned difficult to interfere like that, to save the Emir from someone you loved."

"It was because I loved him that I stopped him," Purdey said sadly. "It was the right decision. I only wish that I'd made the right one when it came to Larry..." She bit back the tears, angry tears this time, that threatened to surface and wash away her composure. "But I was so _young,_ and so sad after my father died, and he was so confident. He swept in and took care of me, and I let him because it felt nice to be taken care of." She looked to him for reassurance. "Is it wrong to want that?"

Gambit shook his head. "You heard what I said. Everybody needs somebody at some point. My point, though, Purdey, is that when the situation calls for it, you can take of yourself. You weren't weak because Larry killed you. Larry was the weak one, because he couldn't cope when everything went to hell. Couldn't take the hand the world dealt him without a gun in his hand. Don't you understand, Purdey? He wasn't brave or strong. He was just angry, and obsessed, and hateful. The last thing anyone would want to do is go up against someone with murder on his mind, let alone the man you were going to marry. But you did that, because that was right. And you faced him down to the end. If that doesn't make you strong, I don't know what does."

Purdey looked cautiously hopeful. "Do you really think so?"

"I know it," Gambit said with conviction. "And it doesn't undo everything that you've done since, either. You're one of the bravest, toughest people I know. You're not giving yourself the credit you deserve." He stopped, then added, "Still doesn't mean I'm keen on what happened." His jaw was working angrily. "If I'd been there, if I'd known..."

"You came through the second time around," Purdey reminded, thinking back to the day in the field. "That's what matters. And anyway, you were already gone by the first." She paused as she let that thought sink in. "1970. And you'd already been gone six years."

"Steed had been gone for 28," Gambit calculated.

"You're right," Purdey breathed, overwhelmed by the thought. "And I...well, I didn't know. I had no reason to. But still. It seems...wrong. Somehow."

"Don't worry. I'm willing to forgive you for not tending my grave, " Gambit quipped.

"Really, Gambit? Gallows humour?"

"Seems appropriate."

"Hmm..." Purdey reached out carefully and touched his side with tentative fingers. Gambit arched an eyebrow.

"Can I help you with something?"

"I was wondering if there was a scar. Where you were stabbed," Purdey explained, concentrating hard as she tried to feel the skin beneath the fabric. "But I suppose it doesn't work like that."

"It doesn't seem to," Gambit agreed, rubbing the spot where he'd felt the taste of steel not an hour before. "I think that may be the one place I _don't _have a scar." He eyed Purdey's blouse appraisingly. "I'd go looking for yours, but I have a feeling I'd get a slap."

"Only if I were feeling very, very generous," Purdey mock-warned, and laughed at Gambit's feigned disappointment. She tipped her head back and caught sight of the stars again. They were just stars, but the important thing was that they looked the same as they had when she was a little girl. When she was alive. So many things were still that way. If she hadn't been told, she would never have suspected she'd died years ago. Her afterlife was proving even more full and vibrant than she had ever dreamed her mortal existence could be. She'd have to be mad to leave it.

"Gambit?"

"Mmm?" came the lazy reply.

"You're not going to cross over, are you?"

"Not unless I have a very, very good reason." He tilted his head and regarded her with minor unease. "Are you?"

Purdey looked back at the stars. "No," she decided. "No, I don't think it's my time."

"Then I don't have a good reason," Gambit pronounced, watching the sky.

Purdey felt herself blush again, but Gambit wasn't looking at her, so she found she didn't care. "Should we go back and tell Steed?"

"I doubt he'll be back for awhile. If you don't mind, I'd like to stay out here for a little while longer."

"I don't mind," Purdey agreed with a smile, and settled back against the windscreen. They lay that way, for how long Purdey didn't know, but eventually she shifted over so she could rest her head on Gambit's chest. She could hear the beat of his heart-his spiritual, ghostly heart she realised. But it sounded real, and it felt real, and so did the warmth of his body, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the arm he was curling around her shoulders, and she found herself settling in and not caring about much besides than the stars above her. And the company. Definitely the company.

"Now this, right now," Gambit murmured, never taking his eyes off the sky, "I'd say was worth dying for."

Purdey was inclined to agree.


	4. Interlude: Catherine Gale

John, I'm Only Dancing

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. I don't own _The Avengers_, either, or any of its characters. They belong to Canal+ (Image) International. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

><p>Catherine Gale slapped the envelope on the bar and pushed it toward Steed with feeling. "This," she said angrily, "may be the worst trick you've ever pulled!" She slid onto the stool beside him, prodded the package accusingly. "And to disclose this via the post only makes it worse!"<p>

"You've proved very difficult to contact," Steed responded mildly. He'd anticipated Cathy's outrage. "You've developed a habit of leaping between continents. Fort Knox to Kenya via Edinburgh. You must go through a passport a year."

"There's a reason for that," Cathy reminded irritably, retrieving her cigarettes and lighter from her bag. "And I'm sitting with him."

"My dear Mrs. Gale," Steed soothed as she lit up. "I was on the cusp of telling you in 1964. If you hadn't left so abruptly, we'd have had this conversation years ago."

Cathy exhaled a plume of smoke and gave him the evil eye. "As I remember, it was your habit of keeping things from me that made me leave in the first place. We worked together for two years, Steed. I'm sure you could have found a spare moment between walking the dog and shopping for jellied bumblebees to tell me I've been dead since 1958."

Steed winced as she inhaled another lungful of smoke. "You really ought to quit, my dear. You've read the reports, I assume?"

Cathy glowered at hi as she exhaled. "Your concern for my health is touching but unnecessary in light of my demise."

"My dear Mrs. Gale..." Steed's tone was conciliatory. "I understand it's a lot to take in, but look on the bright side. You've had fifteen years of life of which you would have otherwise been deprived. Surely that's worth something?"

Cathy pulled the ashtray on the bar closer to her and tapped her cigarette into it. "Fifteen years without Robert," she reminded, the rigidness of her posture disguising the emotion she was no doubt experiencing. "That's a very long time to think of oneself as a widow, only to realise it was the other way round. I've felt guilty for not visiting his grave because I thought it would be too difficult for me to bear. Now I realise he doesn't have one." She watched the smoke spiral upward distractedly. "I suppose he must have buried me in Africa. That was what I did for him. Or thought I did. I'm having difficulty differentiating between fantasy and reality."

"No matter. There's a great deal of overlap," Steed told her. "It's a role reversal. It was you who died in Africa, not your husband. When you arrived here, you would have suffered from some initial confusion. People reconcile things as best they can with what they remember of their past lives. Robert was gone, so it made sense to assume he was dead."

"I wouldn't go quite that far, but I take your point," Cathy deadpanned. "It explains why my memories of that time are...confused."

"You don't remember your last moments?"

"Only vaguely, like a half-remembered dream. I remember Africa. I remember the farm. But when I think of our life there, things are...hazy." She took a thoughtful drag. "Very significant details I'm unable to recall at all."

Steed knew to whom she was referring. "You have no memory of your children?"

Cathy shook her head slowly, a deep line appearing between her eyes as she fought to retrieve the memories. "I think that was worse than witnessing my own death. The memories of the children, when they came, felt like someone else's. Not mine." She looked down as she stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray. "And I suppose they are, after fifteen years. My children wouldn't recognise me, and I certainly wouldn't recognise them. I suppose we're even."

"Robert never remarried," Steed confided. "He's been raising them on his own ever since. No one replaced you, Mrs. Gale. Take comfort from that."

"I can't," Cathy said bitterly. "I've been living a lie all this time. Everything I've accomplished, everything I am, has been part of someone else's grand scheme, or game. And as you know Steed, I don't like games, and I certainly don't like playing when someone else has rigged the dice." Her eyes were fierce. "What happens now, Steed? What do you have in store for me now that I've joined the rest of the lost souls?"

"You can choose," he told her. "Stay, though there are consequences, or allow me to direct you...onward. It's known as crossing over."

She reached out to collect her bag. "Then we had better be going. I have no desire to stay on and be lied to any longer." And with that she swept out of the bar, and soon, out of his life. Forever.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Notes:<span> If you're wondering where the idea to give Cathy kids came from, there's a reason behind it. If you go way, way back and read the early interviews with Sydney Newman and Leonard White about Cathy as a character, they cite Margaret Mead et al. as influences, but also this woman one of them read an article about, who fought off all these attackers on her farm, but lost her husband and kids at the same time (except for the baby she had strapped to her back). They make reference to Cathy in the same terms, describing her as a woman who survived the Mau Mau, but her husband and children were killed. All the subsequent interviews drop any mention of children, and simply refer to her as a widow. Clearly the idea of Cathy having children was something that was brought in with the source material, and quickly dropped. But I've always thought the idea of Cathy as a mother was an interesting idea, and thought it would add an extra-dimension to her story if it turned out she had kids and just forgot about them over time, and only had lingering memories of Mr. Gale. Speaking of Mr. Gale, Andrew Pixley's highly informative book, _The Avengers Files,_ informs me that squinting at some ID pass of Cathy's reveals the name "Robert Stephen Gale", and assumes it must be her husband, so I didn't pull the name out of thin air.


	5. A Step Ahead, A Class Apart

John, I'm Only Dancing

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. I don't own _The Avengers_, either, or any of its characters. They belong to Canal+ (Image) International. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

><p>Steed stepped out of the Jaguar, and locked it behind him with exaggerated care. He didn't trust his thoughts at the moment, and any distraction, however small, was welcome. That task completed, he set off down the path that would lead him into the park, and the person he was meeting. Part of him wondered if she would even turn up-he'd sent the message via the post, after all—but she'd sounded friendly enough when he'd called her a few months back. He hoped the same would be true in a face-to-face reunion.<p>

She was waiting when he arrived, sitting on a park bench with her fashionable blue coat drawn up against the fall chill. Her back was to him, and he took a moment to collect himself before quietly taking a seat beside her.

They sat in silence for a moment, neither daring to turn and face the other, to make the first move. Eventually the tension became unbearable, and Steed could take it no longer. "Mrs. Peel," he began.

"I told you, Steed," she replied without looking his way. "I'm not Mrs. Peel anymore."

"As you may have heard, old habits are very difficult to break. Would you indulge me?"

Emma Knight, as she was now known, chuckled a little. "I think I've indulged you more than was good for you over the years, but I suppose a little more won't hurt." She turned and met his eyes, finally. "Hello, Steed."

"Mrs. Peel." He returned her fond look. "It's been too long."

"And yet you haven't changed a bit," Emma said with satisfaction, as though this was what she was expecting, and was happy not to be disappointed.

Steed shook his head. "I think you'll find I have, in all the usual ways of which time is fond. But you, my dear, remain untouched."

It was Emma's turn to look sceptical. "The light has gone more than I thought, then. Either that, or you've fed me a blatant lie. Not the first, certainly not the last." She ignored Steed's disingenuous expression, regarded him expectantly. "You said you had something important to tell me. Perhaps I've become suspicious over the years, but I have a very strong feeling that it will harken back to some long ago untruth, or even half-truth, from our days in the field. Am I right?"

"It goes back much further than that, I'm afraid," Steed confided grimly. "To the heart of your very existence, not to put too fine a point on it."

She turned away at that, looking to the horizon and the vivid pinks and oranges of the setting sun. "I'm dead, aren't I?" She said it simply, without art or humour or bitterness, but as a statement, a fact that was complete in itself. All the same, Steed's eyebrow canted upward in surprise and disbelief.

"What on earth made you think that?" he queried, not bothering to hide his shock. Emma would have seen past the mask anyway.

Her mouth quirked up at one side in that infamous asymmetrical smile, but she still didn't turn to face him. "Isn't it obvious? Or did you think Peter would be as inscrutable as you were?"

Steed closed his eyes and mentally chastised himself. Of course. Peter Peel. He'd assumed there had been enough time between when Emma's husband had crossed over and his reunion with his wife for him to have forgotten it all. Steed had never thought to check up on exactly how long it had been. Emma's departure was already so painful that he had no desire to dwell on it any longer than was needed.

"He made a valiant attempt at trying to reconcile the two," Emma went on, taking Steed's silence for the understanding it was. "After all, he'd spent four years as an amnesiac in the Amazon. There were bound to be discrepancies between what he remembered and how things really were." She paused, ran her hand up over her forehead and through her windswept hair to push it back from her face. It was a classic Emma gesture, and Steed watched it as if in a dream, trying to understand how so many years could pass, and so little could change. "But he had nightmares," Emma went on, softly. "Terrible ones. He'd wake up screaming in absolute terror, and he wouldn't go back to sleep for an hour or two. At first I thought it was trauma, from the crash and his years in the jungle. But one night he told me what he dreamt about. He said he remembered the four years in the Amazon, that they were confusing and disorienting, but he could live with that. He said he could remember flying his plane, and the controls going wrong." She sighed and pulled her coat tighter around herself. "But what he remembered clearest of all was the day before the flight. And I wasn't there." She turned to look at Steed, finally, brown eyes deep. "Because I'd died the year before."

Steed had known it was coming, but he couldn't help but suck in a breath when she said it. "Go on," he managed.

Emma obliged. "His mind was very confused by that point. Addled. Those years in the Amazon-our Amazon—unsure of what had happened to him, where he was, left him uncertain of what was real. By the time we were reunited, all he had were glimpses, ghosts of memories. But he remembered the important things. He remembered I'd died. Not how, not where. But he knew when. 1964." She cast her eyes downward. "The year I met you."

"Mrs. Peel..."

"It makes sense now, looking back. I never knew how Peter died. I didn't remember exactly when I became a widow. All I knew was that Peter was there, and then he wasn't, and I...assumed that he was dead. The logical assumption. No one contradicted me. Everyone else knew he was gone. You knew he was gone. There was no reason to question it. And the longer I was here, the less I thought about it. And when he came back, I accepted the story without question. He was a test pilot. Of course he'd gone down in a plane. Of course it was over the Amazon. It made sense. Peter was gone, and then he was back, and of course I would go with him. It was like a dream, it felt strange, but I thought it was me. I thought I was the one having trouble adjusting. I thought it would get better. So I went with him. It didn't occur to me to do anything else." She rose from the bench, dipped her hands into her pockets, walked a pace or two away from the bench. Steed stood but didn't move to join her, intuitively knowing she needed her space until she had unburdened herself completely.

"It's a wonder he held out as long as he did," Emma went on, with almost scientific detachment. "When it came right down to it, he was living with what was, to him, a ghost." The smile reasserted itself. "But then, he was a ghost, too. To me. And even though we were, finally, both on the same side of the bridge, it didn't feel that way, and in the end we couldn't reconcile our two different realities after so long apart. It seems ghosts are terrible at relating to the living, but it's possible to have just as much difficulty with the other dead." She laughed softly, and glanced his way. "But you don't believe in ghosts, do you Steed? Or at the very least, not in ghosts of ghosts. That was why you wouldn't answer me all those years ago, when I asked. While we were looking into FOG and SMOG and cities beneath the ground. I suppose you thought the answer was too complicated for us mere former mortals."

Steed shifted uncomfortably at the underlying rebuke. "It's not the sort of thing you divulge lightly. You have to choose your moment."

"And when would that have been?" Emma inquired, turning to face him, lips pressed together in sudden annoyance. "When I ran into your car? When you recruited me for that first assignment? When Peter reappeared? When, Steed? When were you planning on telling me about my untimely demise?"

Steed closed his eyes. "I planned to. But I didn't want you to leave, to move on..."

"But I did," Emma cut in. "Though not the way you anticipated. If I'd known all the facts, I may have decided differently. I may not have gone with Peter. I may not have left you. But it was my decision to make, and you made it for me."

"That wasn't my intention."

"What you intended doesn't matter," Emma snapped, eyes flashing. "It's not your place to decide who stays and who leaves. Not unless you're much, much farther up the ladder then you've let on."

Steed smirked in spite of himself. "You know as well as I do that I'm not a saint, Mrs. Peel."

"No," she agreed, with just a touch of a smile in return. "But I thought you were more honourable than that. It's the lack of respect that bothers me. After all we went through together, I would have thought you could confide in me. If only enough to let me know what I was dealing with." She arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "Or do you keep your cards close to your chest even when it comes to your partners?"

Steed shook his head. "I tell them all. Eventually."

"And do they leave?"

He hesitated before answering. "Yes."

"Leave you, or...?"

"They leave," Steed said meaningfully.

She looked surprised in spite of herself. "All of them?"

"That remains to be seen," Steed murmured, swinging his umbrella distractedly as he moved toward her. "But as yet my record leaves much to be desired. David Keel, Mrs. Gale, Tara..."

"Tara King?" Emma repeated incredulously, remembering the vibrant young woman she'd met on the stairs. "She seemed so...eager. I would have thought—"

"Yes, so did I. But it appears we were both wrong," Steed said quickly, unwilling to dwell on long-lost friends. "And at the moment, my latest two, Purdey and Gambit, are out there, somewhere, pondering whether they should follow suit. I hate to be pessimistic, but I don't like my chances." He levelled his gaze at her. "Perhaps you'll understand why I was loathe to tell you, Mrs. Peel. Better to have you leave me then quit this day and age entirely. I could accept the others. I could accept you leaving with Peter. Having you out there somewhere, carrying on with your life, was something I could accept. But if you left, like the others..." He let the sentence hang.

Emma's eyes moistened in spite of herself. "I suppose I should be flattered," she tried.

"It's preferable to any of the emotions you've expressed thus far," Steed opined. "It didn't hold out on you because I didn't trust you, Mrs. Peel. I held out because you meant more."

She nodded. "Yes I understand. But you shouldn't—"

"I know. Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

She nodded again. "Tell me. How did I die?"

He swallowed hard and reached for the envelope in his breast pocket. "There's a film..."

"I don't want to see it. Just tell me. Now. Please."

Steed sighed. He owed her that much at the very least, he knew. But the last thing in the world he wanted to do was tell her this of all things. But this was her choice. A choice he should have given her a long time ago.

"It happened at Knight Industries," he began, with Emma's eyes fixed on him intently. "You were working in one of the labs. I confess I've never been able to fathom what it was you were doing exactly—all a bit over my head. But you were troubleshooting. You were talking animatedly. You were perfectly fine, in your element, positively radiant, clearly enjoying yourself..." He paused, tried to suppress the mental image that had burned itself into his brain the second the film had spooled through the projector. "And then you collapsed. It was sudden. No warning. No indication as to what had happened. They called for an ambulance immediately, of course, but it was already too late."

Emma's eyes were moist, but she was remarkably composed. "What was it?"

Steed met the brown pools, even though it was absolute torture to do so. "An aneurysm. I've been told that they can stay dormant all your life, with never a hint that they're there, until it's too late. Then one day, for reasons unknown, it bursts, and..." He trailed off, unable to bring the sentence to its logical conclusion. "It was quick, I assure you."

Emma laughed in spite of herself. "It's very encouraging to know I didn't suffer."

"It is to me," Steed asserted, in all seriousness. "It doesn't change the outcome, but I've learned to take my crumbs of comfort where I can find them, and there are much worse ways to die."

"I suppose," Emma murmured, brushing away a tear, "though it's very strange mourning oneself." Steed reacted instantly, handed her his handkerchief.

"I'm sorry, my dear. That was remiss of me," he apologised, watching her blot the tears away.

"You have a lot on your mind," Emma excused, sniffling slightly. "So did I, it appears." She squared her shoulders and inclined her head ironically. "It seems I thought myself to death."

"Mrs. Peel," Steed said with affection, knowing even mild flippancy coming from her was a good sign, and he was reminded of just how remarkably resilient she was. "You must know better than anyone that a brilliant mind is only gifted to the world for a short time."

Emma's lopsided smile reasserted itself. "Steed, you flatter me. But it does put a damper on my research, all those articles I've authored over the years. All in make-believe journals published in a fantasy world."

"Oh, it's very real," Steed assured, starting the slow trek back to where they'd left their cars. "At least, in all the important ways. I'm uncertain about the physics, but I suppose Newton must have passed through here at some point. The people are most definitely real, though. I think that's the most important thing."

"That's very encouraging, and very sad," Emma opined, falling into step beside him. "All of them lost, dead souls, and they have no idea."

"They live full lives because they have no idea," Steed reminded. "Lives that were cut short one way or another. And they do so without mourning what they've lost. They either forget what they've left behind as time passes, or they manage to reconcile it with where they are now."

"But people must move on? You said..."

"I did, and they do. At one point or another, they're given a choice. Not always by being told, but through circumstance or what have you."

"And that's what I'm faced with now?" Emma inquired. "A choice? Here, or...?"

"Or not here," Steed said simply. "The great beyond, I suppose you could say, though I confess I've no idea what it entails."

"But you know how to get there?"

Steed closed his eyes against tears he had no intention of shedding. He knew it. He knew if he told her, she'd want to move on. Everyone did. Keel, Cathy, Tara. He was mad to hope, even slightly, that she was going to stay after he told her. But no one stayed. No one ever stayed. No one except him.

"Yes," he confirmed. They'd reached their cars now, and he indicated the Jaguar. "And I can take you there. It's not terribly far. All you have to do is get in, and you can devote that wonderful mind to unravelling the secrets of the next plane of existence."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "You're letting me go?"

"Mrs. Peel," Steed murmured affectionately. "It _is_ your decision. You were right all along. It's not my place to decide who stays and who goes. I'm not letting go. I was wrong to hang on in the first place."

Emma regarded him thoughtfully. "Yes. You were," she agreed, then reached out a hand. "Keys?"

Steed felt his heart sink, but he turned them over dutifully, watched her open the Jaguar and slide them into the ignition. This couldn't be happening. It really couldn't. All these years he'd managed to keep her from moving on, and now he was going to let her go without so much as a fight. It wasn't his place to decide for her, that was true. But he could fight for her, persuade her, as he should have done so long ago.

She was sitting the Jag's passenger seat, silent, waiting. "Mrs. Peel," he began.

"Hush, Steed," she shushed. "I've made my decision."

"I'm sure you have, but if you'd only let me—"

"There's no need," Emma interrupted. "There's nothing you can say that will change my mind."

"That may well be, but if you'd give me—"

Emma rose from the seat and started toward him. "Steed, it's done."

"Mrs. Peel, please—"

"Steed..."

"Please-"

"Steed..."

"I must insist—"

"John," Emma cut in, with enough force that the words died on his lips. The shock of hearing his rarely-heard Christian name, used particularly infrequently by Emma Peel, left him speechless for long enough to realise that soft music was filtering out of the Jag. He regarded her with bemusement, but she was smiling.

"I'm only dancing," she confided, "and I'm going to look very foolish if I do it alone." She offered an expectant hand. "Shall we?"

Steed looked from her to the hand, and back again, felt a smile tug at his lips. He hooked the brolly on the Jag's mirror, and took it. "We shall," he agreed, and off they went.

"You know," Emma added, after they'd found the rhythm, remarkably easily even after all so many years, "you haven't told me how you died. I feel I'm owed a story."

"You are owed many, many things, my dear. But we shall start with that one."


	6. Interlude: Tara King

John, I'm Only Dancing

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. I don't own _The Avengers_, either, or any of its characters. They belong to Canal+ (Image) International. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Chapter 6 for you. One more chapter to go after this. Hope everyone's enjoying it thus far.

I'd just like to take a moment to plug another, non-Avengers fic I've posted, written for the TV series _Jason King_, spin-off from _Department S._ There's literally no fanfiction for it on the net (I had to e-mail the site and have them add a category for it), but I had an idea for a little character piece for Jason. There are probably about three people out there looking for stuff written about Jason (of which I am one), but if you happen to be one of the other two with a soft spot for Jason, perhaps you'd like to give it a look. Just saunter over to my profile page and look for "A Rare Woman." :-)

We now return you to your regular Avengerscentric programming.

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><p>"Is that it?" Tara King inquired, knowing that it had to be. After all, a door in the middle of a field was difficult to miss. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Steed was still with her. He waded through the buttercups to join her, regarded the portal with a degree of wariness she was unaccustomed to in the man.<p>

"It is," he confirmed, and Tara bit her lip, turned her head to examine it once more.

"What...happens...when I go through?" she asked carefully.

Steed shook his head. "I've no idea. The only way to find out is to step inside yourself, and I've yet to take that particular adventure." He saw the anxiety written on her face, and smiled. "But I have it from a very reliable source that it's the next step in your journey. The right one."

"I see," Tara murmured uncertainly. "And you've seen other people go through before?"

Keel and Cathy appeared in his mind's eye, along with heaven only knew how many others. And so many still to come. "I have. But it's your choice, Tara. Once you cross through, there's no coming back. It's not a decision you should take lightly."

"I don't plan to," Tara assured, taking a step toward the door, and then another, moving in a small semi-circle. She realised she was sneaking up on it, which felt vaguely ridiculous, but then this was no ordinary door. When she came round the other side, there was only more field, but she knew intuitively that if she opened it, it wouldn't be buttercups that greeted her. She came back around to the front, rested a hand against the painted, reddish-orange wood, and pressed an ear to the surface. A sudden rush of warmth and well-being enveloped her. She smiled.

Steed was watching her with concern. If she wasn't careful, she was going to push it open accidentally, and he had a sinking feeling that even mistaken crossings were permanent. "Tara?" he called, starting toward her. "I hate to interfere, but—"

"No, no it's all right," Tara assured, pulling away from the door, and regarding it with something approaching awe. "I think...I think I dreamt about this, once upon a time. You were there." She tossed him a carefree smile. "You, me, this field, and the door. And I ran through it."

"Tara..." Steed warned. "This is hardly the time to start charting your course in life based on your dreams."

"Why not?" Tara countered. "From what you've told me, you, me, all of this, is a dream. A waking dream. But that's not all." She walked back toward him in a slow, deliberate gait. "When I was a little girl, I wanted an adventure. I died in that avalanche at 17 because I wanted an adventure, and skiing out of bounds was the best one I could think of at the time. And when I joined the Ministry, I met you, and I got one. A very long one. A very good one."

Steed felt himself smile. He knew where this was heading. He knew there was nothing he could do about it. And it made him sad. But Tara's eyes were shining so brightly, in a way they hadn't before now, that he couldn't help but be happy for her. _He_ used to make them shine like that. "Used" being the operative word.

She was standing before him now, looking up at him fondly, and for a moment, he could almost forget that she wasn't still 21, with the world at her feet. "We had a very good adventure, didn't we, Steed?" she said softly.

He nodded. "Indeed we did, Miss King. Indeed we did."

"But all good things and all that." She rested a hand on his lapel. "I need a new adventure now, Steed. And I haven't found it here."

"Then I shan't keep you from it any longer," Steed told her, and she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He embraced her back, committing her form and scent to memory.

"Good-bye, Steed," she whispered into his shoulder.

"Good-bye, Miss King," he reciprocated, and released her. There were tears now, and he offered her his handkerchief. She took it gratefully, dabbed the glistening streams away, then turned to make for the door. He watched her go, another solitary figure off to face a brave new world on her own. He only hoped there was someone there to greet her.

She paused, hand on the knob, and turned to look at him one last time. "Will I ever see you again?" she called.

Steed shook his head. "I don't know, Tara. I honestly don't know."

She smiled, one last, beautiful smile, and said, "I think I will." And she turned the knob. Blindingly bright light filtered out as she opened the door, and she stepped inside. Then the door closed, and it was gone. And so was she.

Not for the first time, John Steed made the long trek back to his car alone.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Notes:<span> And Tara was so hard to work out a way to kill, because she's so [i]young[/i] when she starts on the show, and she's already been around the Ministry for awhile, so that means she had to have died super young. Too young to have much of a history that I could spin out. She must be the most well-adjusted character in all of Avengerland-no issues to speak of! So I went back to my biggest question when it comes to Tara: "Why does a nice, well-adjusted, pretty young woman sign up to be shot at by enemy agents?" And all I came up with was: bored. Maybe a bit of an adrenaline junkie. Likes taking risks. And then I remembered Tara skies. (See _The Curious Case of the Countless Clues_). That fixed it.

The door Tara goes through is meant to be the red one from the season 6 titles in the field, by the way. I thought and thought about what the Avengerland equivalent would be to The Railway Arms when it came to a "portal", or what have you, that let you cross over. I wanted it to be something that was somehow connected to the series, and very surreal. The door was the best I could think of-Avengerland suits a door that's sitting in the middle of nowhere, but goes somewhere. So that's what it ended up being. Tara's "dream/vision" is, essentially, the season 6 titles. The entire sequence is random enough to be a dream, so I thought it fit.


	7. The Last of the Line

John, I'm Only Dancing

By J. Ferguson a.k.a. Timeless A-Peel

Disclaimer: I don't own _The New Avengers,_ nor any of the associated characters. They belong to The Avengers (Film and TV) Enterprises. I don't own _The Avengers_, either, or any of its characters. They belong to Canal+ (Image) International. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.

Author's Note: Last chapter to wrap things up. I hope you've enjoyed this little AU tale as much as I enjoyed writing it. See the end for an additional, spoilerish disclaimer.

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><p>It was late by the time Steed returned to the stud farm, but he arrived in a considerably better mood than when he had left. After all these years, all the people who had passed through his life, someone had chosen to stay. And not just for any reason. Because of him. He'd found himself wondering in recent years if it wasn't time to cross over himself. He'd been grooming Purdey and Gambit as a team for precisely that reason, so there would be someone to continue at least part of his work when he was gone. But now he had a renewed conviction to stay on and face further trials. As long as there was someone else to lend an ear and a shoulder, who knew how long he could soldier on?<p>

And that was probably just as well, he realised as he pulled into the driveway and stepped out of the car. Given how things had looked when he left, his legacy could easily be leaving before he did. Purdey had been profoundly affected by what she'd learned. Gambit seemed to be taking things with a little more equanimity, but where Purdey was involved, nothing was certain. Gambit was loyal to Steed, but the younger man's heart belonged elsewhere, and Steed had a feeling he'd follow it right through that door if need be.

Steed sighed as he opened the front door. Even with Emma staying on, he would be sorry to lose Purdey and Gambit. He'd grown very fond of them, and what had begun as a professional partnership had blossomed into a very dear friendship. They'd only had two years together, and the idea of losing them so soon saddened him deeply. But he would have to respect their decisions, whatever they were. They were in charge of their own destinies, as he was of his. With a deep breath, he stepped inside, ready to face the music.

He was understandably quite surprised when, upon entering the living area, he found his two young colleagues draped over the furniture. Dirty dishes on the coffee table were accompanied by a half-finished bottle of wine and a pair of glasses. Purdey's heels were scattered over the floor, and the girl herself was stretched out on the couch reading what appeared to be the evening edition of the _Times_, while Gambit had commandeered an armchair and was doing the same. His booted feet were on the coffee table. For once, Steed resisted the urge to knock them off. Somewhere in the background, the radio was softly playing that Bryan Ferry fellow that everyone seemed so terribly interested in lately.

Purdey glanced up from her paper and treated him to one of her signature bright smiles. "Steed! We were wondering when you were going to get back."

"We, uh, had a late dinner," Gambit added, lowering the paper. "Sorry, but we ransacked your fridge." He glanced back at the paper. "Oh, and your cricket team lost. You owe me ten pounds."

"Gambit!" Purdey scolded. "Don't bring that up now!"

"Why? A bet's a bet," Gambit defended, then remembered where his feet were. "Oh, sorry," he apologised, and quickly removed them.

Steed looked from one to the other in disbelief. "Ten pounds? You're not planning on leaving?"

"Well, we thought about it," Purdey allowed.

"We took a drive," Gambit chipped in. "Had a look at the stars."

"And we thought about it," Purdey finished. "And we decided that, while being killed is definitely not something either of us would wish to repeat, being dead has actually proven to be...Gambit?"

"Not without its perks," Gambit supplied. "Though I think Purdey just can't stand the idea of us having fun without her," he added, with a wink at the blonde.

Purdey tsked. "I feel I have a responsibility. There'll be nothing left of this place if I leave the two of you to have your way with it."

"You're quite certain?" Steed inquired, feeling a smile tug at his features. "You want to stay?"

"Well, there's no telling what the future will hold," Purdey allowed, "but just now, we'd rather not cross over. We're quite content with how things are now."

Gambit was eyeing him. "Unless, of course, you _want_ us to go..."

"I think I can make use of both of you for a little while yet," Steed replied, finally allowing the smile. "Though not if you're going to make a habit of eating me out of house and home."

"That was Purdey's idea," Gambit defended. "You know her. Best undead appetite this side of purgatory."

"Oh, hush and help me with the dishes," Purdey grumbled, gathering up the plates, "before I help you along to the other side with a swift kick."

"That's not a very charitable thing to say to the man who just put heaven on hold for you," Gambit gently chastised as he followed her back to the kitchen.

"Heaven?" Purdey scoffed. "How do you know you're not bound for the other place?"

Steed smiled to himself as their voices faded with the closing of the kitchen door, then made for the phone on the side table. Purdey's questions about the death of her mother, uncle, and step-father haunted him still, and if she was going to stay on, he felt he owed it to her to answer them. That meant contacting one of the other enlightened souls on this plane of existence. He sat on the couch and dialled a number from memory. It rang twice before a woman's voice answered.

"CID."

"Hello, Phyllis," Steed greeted. "Carruthers here. Put me through, please."

Phyllis didn't bother with a reply, just made the transfer. Five rings later, a gruff Northern voice answered. "Hunt."

"It's me. Carruthers."

"Oh, Steed," the voice grumbled unenthusiastically. "Why are you still bothering with that Carruthers bollocks? You've been using the same bloody codename for fifteen years. You don't think someone's worked it out by now?"

"What I choose to call myself is none of your concern. I need a favour."

"Hold on." Steed heard the thunk of the receiver as it hit the desk top, then the squeak of a door in need of a good oiling, and faint music. "Tyler!" Hunt bellowed. "Tell Christopher that if he doesn't turn that bloody Status Quo down this instant, I'll shove it so far up his jacksie, it'll displace what he had for lunch! Got it?"

There was an inaudible response as 'Tyler' returned his boss' ill-humour before Hunt reasserted himself.

"Never mind who I'm talking to! Do I ask about what you and Cartwright get up to in the stationary cupboard? Now piss off and find me something to put that nonce away for the rest of his natural life!" Steed winced as Gene returned to the line. "They'll be the death of me, this lot. So, favour eh? Give me one good reason why I should help a manipulative spook like you?"

"I'd like to think that you'd do it out of professional respect," Steed began, hearing the snort of derision up the line, "but if that doesn't motivate you, I'll see to it that your rather sizeable tab at the Railway Arms is paid down, with a generous credit added to boot. It would be effective immediately, of course. You know Nelson and I are on very good terms."

There was a pause, then a shuffling of papers. "All right, you smug bastard. What do you need?"

Steed grinned. "I'm going to give you some names. Take these down..."

End

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note:<span> I know that last bit will mean nothing to you if you've never watched _Life on Mars_, but I just had to get Gene in there. Steed had quite a lot to do with the cops in the Keel era (and was known to phone them up for assistance under the name "Carruthers"), so why couldn't he have run across a young policeman who was also well-aware he was dead and working to roughly the same ends? Hey, I can dream...

Also, please note I have nothing against Status Quo, lest I alienate some Avengers/Quo fans. -) All the songs I've heard from them I've quite enjoyed. But Gene never seems to be entirely thrilled with "modern music," and I needed a seventies band for him to pick on. They just happened to come to mind.

Disclaimer: _Life on Mars _and all associated characters are property of Kudos Film & Television Ltd. This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement intended.


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